


Tender

by Kaz_Langston



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Hurt Ianto Jones, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Episode: s01e06 Countrycide, Pre-Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23172136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaz_Langston/pseuds/Kaz_Langston
Summary: Missing scene and post-episode for Countrycide. Tosh might have escaped ‘tenderising’, but Ianto wasn’t so lucky.
Relationships: Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones
Comments: 6
Kudos: 154





	Tender

Ianto sat on the back of the SUV, hands on his thighs, locked arms bracing himself up. The deep breaths made his ribs burn and ache, but they were the only thing keeping him from collapsing into a sobbing heap, so he forced himself to keep breathing, slow and steady, adrenaline and fear still fizzing under his skin.

When a paramedic dropped by, Ianto managed to lift a hand enough to point a thumb at Owen, still fussing over Gwen. "He's a doctor, he's already checked me over. Just a bit of a bump, I'll have a headache but be fine in the morning." Later, when Owen spared him a quick glance, Ianto repeated himself. "Just a bit of a bump. I'll have a headache but be fine in the morning."

Owen was too distracted by Gwen and her shotgun wound, and the paramedics were distracted by all the other gunshot wounds, and the thought of someone touching him was too much after the harsh hand wrapped around his jaw and the grabbing fingers of the villagers, manhandling him and hitting and pinching his flesh. Instead, he stole Gwen's compact mirror and a pack of tissues, and wiped away the worst of the blood from his forehead.

It took a long time for them to be cleared to leave the scene, though they were all desperate to get away. When they finally got the nod from the senior officer, there was a collective sigh of relief.

Still perched on the boot of the SUV, Ianto held up the keys. "I'll drive?" It was his turn, after all.

Jack eyed him sceptically. "Not sure you should be driving with that head injury. You sure you don't need the hospital?"

"I'm fine, Jack." Ianto tried to keep his tone level, but it didn't seem to fool the man.

"Owen?"

The doctor had been helping Gwen into the car but peered around the door when summoned. Jack jerked his chin at Ianto. "Check him for concussion, would you?" So much for getting away with it. But perhaps Owen would just be quick, wouldn't ask about the other injuries under his clothes. He didn't quite feel all there, kind of unsettled in his own skin; perhaps it was best to be checked after all.

"He said it was just a bump." But once Gwen was settled and waving him away, Owen hurried to the back of the car. "You remember what happened?"

Ianto blanched, though his skin was already pale. "Yes."

"Follow my finger." A handful of tests later, Ianto holding back his flinches as best he could as ungentle fingers probed the head wound and his throbbing cheekbone, Owen shook his head. "Maybe a very mild concussion, you'll live. Better if Jack drives, though. And you'll have a cracking black eye tomorrow." Ianto sagged in relief. At least it was just the visible injuries that would count against him. The rest of his failings could stay secret.

Satisfied, Jack plucked the keys from Ianto's chill fingers and headed to the driver's seat.

Left alone, Ianto took a quick breath, then a second, bracing himself, before pushing himself off the back of the car. Sharp white teeth digging into his swollen lip managed to keep his pained cry from attracting attention, but reaching up to close the boot nearly undid him, ribs a stabbing agony in his chest making his vision go a blistering empty white around the edges as he pressed a shaking hand against glossy black paintwork.

After a few seconds to gather himself Ianto clambered into the back of the car, pulling the door shut behind him with a silent huff of effort, but fortunately no one seemed to notice his movements. Tosh, in the front passenger seat, was too distracted by the return of her gadgets to pay any attention to anything but the tech, and Owen seemed too distracted by the press of Gwen's leg against his to do anything at all.

Ianto rested his aching head back against the headrest and tried not to think, eyes wide and fixed out of the window as the car juddered down tiny roads and out onto the motorway towards Cardiff.

Somehow he drifted off, in the evening dusk. When he woke, Tosh was gone, and the road was just a few turns from his apartment.

The long drive, plus the time spent frozen as the crime scene devolved around him, had left his body aching. His head, his ribs, his belly, all throbbing in time with his pulse and the thrum of the road under the tyres.

When they pulled up outside the apartment building, Jack turned around with a smile that didn't have quite its usual wattage. "It's been a long day. Take tomorrow off."

Too tired to argue, Ianto nodded. "Yes, sir."

Jack searched his eyes for just a second before nodding back.

Ianto let himself out of the car, biting his lip again as his bruised stomach muscles screamed in protest at the movement, somehow managing to suppress the sob buried in his chest that begged to break free. Dragging his go bag and backpack out from the footwell, he nudged the door shut and watched as the car pulled away from the curb, bags hanging heavy in one hand.

In the back of the SUV he could see the silhouette of Gwen and Owen pressed shoulder to shoulder. They didn't break apart, though there was a seat free and plenty of room. Ianto thought briefly that he should be bitter; their relationship is clear as day to him, so often unnoticed in the background that they forget to keep themselves on guard, and it feels unfair that they get this strange vicious happiness. But then, it isn't all happiness and light there either, and Gwen will feel the pain when it all starts tumbling down.

He chastised himself a little, stood in the dark, staring at the corner where the car had vanished. Gwen had been shaken, she'd been _shot_ ; it's for the best that she's looked after.

Far too late, he thought that he should probably have waved goodbye.

The lift was out of order, but then it had been for months. Slowly, step by aching step, Ianto gripped the banister and made his way up three flights of stairs. If his ribs had allowed him he would have been breathing hard by the time he got to his door, but instead all he could manage was quick sharp huffs of breath that could probably be considered hyperventilating.

His hands trembled as he unlocked the door, staggering inside. Dropping the bags in the hall, he leant against the wall, trying to let the spinning world settle.

The overwhelming need to piss eventually dragged him from his reverie. The stream was dark as it hit the basin; maybe from blood, maybe just dehydration. He couldn't find it in himself to care. Washing his hands was almost more of a relief than pissing; the blood and dirt came off easily, though the grazes on his palms stung under the soap.

When the water finally ran clear, he lifted his head to look at his face in the mirror.

Gwen's compact hadn't shown him everything, when he'd been wiping away the worst of the blood. In the stark light of his bathroom, Ianto was faintly shocked at how awful he looked.

He hadn't managed to wipe away all the blood earlier, and certainly not all the grime from being shoved to the ground. His cheekbone bloomed red and angry, and he reached up to finger it gently. Nothing moved under his pressing fingertips, but it hurt enough to bring tears to his eyes.

He licked his lips, the chapped skin rough under his tongue, and winced. The corners of his mouth felt raw where they had tied the gag tight, where his mouthing off to keep their attention from Tosh had forced them to silence him.

The sudden memory of it sent nausea roiling through his stomach, and he had to swallow convulsively to keep from throwing up. With his other injuries, vomiting would be an awful idea.

There was blood on his shirt, on his skin, and suddenly all he could think about was getting clean, about washing more than just his hands. He leant over to turn the shower on with a groan.

Shaking hands undid the buttons of his shirt, and when it finally fell apart he stared at himself once again in the mirror.

Only a few of the bruises were starting to show, but the one low on his chest pinpointed the pressure of fractured ribs. Two, maybe three. He averted his eyes before he could begin a mechanical categorisation of his injuries - his _tenderising_ \- and instead dropped his hands to his belt. His jeans hung loose around his waist; eating's lost any pleasure it ever held for him, in his grief over Lisa. They fell easily from his hips when he half undid them.

He had to toe off the socks, the thought of bending over to pull them off bringing sweat to his upper lip.

Under the hot spray of the shower, he closed his eyes and let his tears fall.

*-*-*-*-*

Ianto slept late, and when he woke it was to the screaming agony of a thorough beating.

He'd thought he'd escaped the worst of it when the ringleader had pelted after Tosh - just a vicious blow to the cheek and then the rifle butt to knock him silly - but the arrival of the other villagers had heralded a continuation of the threatened beating. One of them had even picked up the dropped baseball bat, though he'd not been as effective with it as Ianto had first feared.

Unable to gain the strength to even turn over, Ianto groaned into the pillow. He'd collapsed face down the night before, and seemingly hadn't moved in ten hours.

Some of the ache was his fault, he knew - his quick quips whenever one of the bastards looked to the door like they were considering joining the chase for Tosh had spurred them to fresh heights of cruelty, and then the final humiliation of the gag.

The man who'd put it on him had pried his mouth open with strong, careless fingers, first wrapped around his jaw and then, at Ianto's helpless whimper, had run a thumb along his lip. "Shame to cover such a pretty mouth." His breath was hot and smelled of copper, and Ianto had strained back, though he had little enough room, trying futilely to avoid the gag and the tight grip and cruel words and the press of lips on his cheek. The man had laughed and patted his cheek hard enough to sting and make him jerk in his bonds, though it hadn't really registered among the rest of the damage. "Maybe we'll have a little time later, once your friends are all here."

Breath heaving in his chest, Ianto fumbled for the light switch, the dark suddenly reeking of the filthy bag they'd shoved over his head, suddenly terrified that he was back there, that the soft mattress under his chest was just a desperate fantasy. The light chased away some of the fear but still his heart pounded, each pulse of blood sending fresh aches through his body.

He lay there for a long time, until the need for water overwhelmed his reluctance to move.

It took all his strength for Ianto to push himself to all fours, gritting his teeth and half-whining with the effort. In the end, standing wasn't possible, and he resigned himself to crawling, head low and hanging, to the kitchen. His glass from last night still stood on the table, half full, and he drank the stale water without a thought.

Slumped against a cabinet, he used the last mouthful of water to wash down a couple of paracetamol. He thought briefly of Owen's experiments with alien meds, but the idea of calling him up and being seen so pathetic, so unable to look after himself in the field, was unbearable. Instead, he waited the twenty minutes for the basic Earth medication to kick in enough that he could slowly get to his feet, refill the glass, and stagger back to bed, painkillers and a stale half pack of plain biscuits in hand.

*-*-*-*-*

When Ianto woke up on the second day, it was to the feeling of someone watching him, and the hairs on the back of his neck rose before his eyes opened just enough to make out a familiar figure.

"I said take a day off, not the whole week," Jack said cheerfully, lounging against the bedroom door.

"Sorry, sir." Ianto's response was automatic, though his brain was still half asleep and his voice low and scratchy.

"You're late. And you weren't answering your phone."

"Sorry, sir," Ianto said again. Head twisted to one side, unwashed since that first night back and in day-old pyjamas, he watched Jack with careful eyes, reluctant to move and betray his stiffness. "I'll be in shortly."

Jack didn't move. "I'm not sure that's a good idea." His eyes flickered briefly to a darkening blue swelling on Ianto's upper arm, half hidden by the sleeve.

Ianto took a careful breath before forcing his aching body to move, dragging himself to the edge of the bed with barely a hitch in his breath. He looked up at Jack, one eye half shut where the swelling had worsened overnight. "I'm fine, sir. Just overslept."

"Owen said it was just a minor wound. You can hardly move. What aren't you telling me?" The captain's voice was calm, level, but brooked no argument.

"I'm fine, sir." Ianto could feel his face settling into the blank, calm mask that's become so familiar to him at Torchwood Three.

"If you're fine, you won't mind making me a cup of coffee." Calm, implacable. A challenge Ianto was determined to rise to.

"Of course, sir." It took him a minute to gather the strength to stand, but he managed it, grateful that the ache was all in his chest and belly and arms rather than his legs.

He didn't quite manage to stride past Jack, but he stayed upright and fetched out the coffee grounds, a mug, the cafetiere. When he moved to the cutlery drawer to grab a spoon there was no warning before warm fingers grabbed the hem of his worn grey t-shirt and hauled it up, revealing the curve of his waist and six inches of black and blue skin before he could scrabble desperately at the invading hand. "Get off me!"

Jack stepped back, eyes soft, though his mouth was a grim line. "You're _hurt_ , Ianto. Why won't you admit it? Why didn't you tell me, tell Owen? We could have helped."

They both know why. Any tentative trust is long gone, after Lisa.

"I'm fine."

"I've heard that one before."

"I'm _fine_. Sir."

Something hard and icy settled over Jack's expression, steady determination and something else. "If you're fine, I expect you at work. Today."

That blue gaze sparked something inside him, always does. He won't fail. "Yes, sir."

Somehow that seemed to be the wrong answer, but with a sharp nod Jack was gone, a swirl of greatcoat in the narrow corridor, leaving Ianto in the kitchen surrounded by his half-made coffee.

His body hurts.

His soul hurts.

Another dose of standard painkillers and he left the fragments of coffee discarded on the side, stumbling to the bathroom to shower.

*-*-*-*-*

He bought them lunch on the way in. Vegetarian, from the deli down the road.

In the hub things seemed relatively normal. Tosh, oblivious to the world around her, picked at the sandwich one-handed as she worked. Jack was on the phone, so he just slid the plate across the table. Didn't even get a grateful nod.

"How's the head?" Owen asked, and that sent a bolt of annoyance through Ianto's aching gut.

"Fine, just a headache," he offered mildly. There was something disgusting on the autopsy table, so he added, "I'll just leave this upstairs, shall I?"  
"Yeah, great."

Gwen was nowhere to be seen, presumably off for the day, though he didn't want to ask. Better to sink into the background, pick up some archiving work, something he could do sat down without jelly legs betraying him.

He managed it for a little while, until Jack's bellow summoned him. "Ianto! Coffee!"

The cup was warm in his hands, starting to burn a little as he held on to the bannister one handed. He hardly had the strength to haul himself up, every movement triggering a deep ache or sharp twinge.

He placed it on Jack's desk, flinching just a little as the coffee spilled over onto his fingers. Jack looked up at him, then back down at the coffee. "You didn't bring any biscuits." His voice was faintly disappointed.

A quick furious thought that _you can fetch your own fucking biscuits_ flashed across Ianto's thoughts, but he gave a polite smile. "I'll bring them now."

Walking back up the stairs for a second time is what did him in, legs weakening and trembling, palm sweaty against the door handle as his head swam, as the bruises across his chest and belly throbbed and throbbed and throbbed.

The door closed behind him as the plate of biscuits dropped from numb fingers, shattering on the floor in an explosion of ceramic and crumbs.

Ianto swayed, reached out a hand to the desk but the blur in his vision made it sway and he misjudged the distance, missing completely and tumbling towards the floor.

Strong arms caught around his chest, and though they saved him from hitting the concrete the air was snatched from his lungs by the agony of it. He would have howled but there was no breath in him for it, and then the world was dark.

*-*-*-*-*

"Shit," Jack swore, lowering Ianto's limp body to the ground before leaping to the door and roaring out, "Owen! Get in here!" He grabbed his coat from the rack, slinging it carelessly on the floor and lifting Ianto's slim frame onto the heavy fabric, pulling him forwards with one arm to strip the younger man's jacket off with the other, laying him back down to loosen the perfectly tied tie and pop the top button.

"What?" Owen snapped, but his expression swung from irritation to surprise and concern in an instant at the sight of Ianto on the ground. "What did you do?!" He dropped down to his knees, giving Jack an accusing look as he checked the pulse in Ianto's neck.

"I didn't do anything! He just passed out."

"Ianto? Ianto, mate, you in there?" He patted Ianto's face lightly, and though the man stirred his eyes didn't open.

Jack chimed in, handsome face creased with worry. "I think he was more badly injured by the villagers than he let on. I saw some bruises."

"Where?"

"At least his stomach, upper arm. Maybe more. It was only a quick glance."

"Alright, alright, I don't need to know all the details of your sex life," Owen scowled. "Help me get his shirt off."

Jack leant forward, fingers making quick work of the shirt buttons, tugging the cotton out from the perfectly pressed trousers. When Ianto's slim chest was finally revealed, the captain let out a long, slow whistle, and Owen swore.

"I thought it was bad, but not that bad." For something to keep his hands busy, to keep from reaching out to the younger man, Jack folded up Ianto's jacket to tuck it under neatly combed hair, unable to resist brushing a thumb across the uninjured cheek.

*-*-*-*-*

With a heavy blink, Ianto opened his eyes to see the industrial piping of the ceiling of Jack's office, something soft under his head as Owen fussed and worried at his naked chest. He couldn't quite find the strength to try and cover himself, though it's a long time since he was this bare in front of anyone.

From this angle, it was easy for him to see the full state of his chest, something he'd resolutely not looked at since that first day. There was barely an inch that wasn't covered in darkened bruising, and he was faintly shocked at the damage. Worse than he'd thought.

"You were supposed to stop," Jack informed him with a wry set to his lips. "I wanted you to tell me it was too much, or at least go to Owen. And if I'd known it was this bad I'd have stopped you myself."

"Oh." Ianto blinked up at him.

Owen chimed in. "You're a fucking state, you should have said something."  
"Owen."

Jack's voice was mild, but the Londoner's mouth snapped shut. "Sorry."

There was silence while cool fingers skated across Ianto's torso, pressing and feeling for damage, drawing out quick huffs of breath and the occasional pained cry.

Finally Owen sat back, looking up at Jack. "He should have gone to the hospital two days ago, but if he's not bled out by now he's probably fine. Probably just fainted ` from low blood pressure. Bit of sugar and some painkillers, he'll be back up and running in no time." He made for the door. "Back in a sec."

Ianto went, if possible, even paler at the thought of having bled out, a shiver chasing over his skin. He might have died silently at home, no one to notice he'd even gone until Jack turned up to find his body.

Crouched back on his heels, Jack turned bright eyes on Ianto. "What am I going to do with you, Ianto?"

"I'm sorry." He wasn't sure why, really, any more, but he felt like he had to say it.

"I need to be able to trust that you'll speak up. I won't have you endangering yourself needlessly."

Ianto blinked, staring at the ceiling. Suddenly cold, he tugged his shirt closed over his bruised chest and began to fumble at the buttons. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"You did. You saved Tosh's life. But then you risked yourself for - for what? Nothing, it seems to me."

He shrugged, an awkward movement from his position on the ground. "Seemed like other people needed the attention more than me."

"There's enough medical attention to go around. Trust me, I've used it enough." Jack gave him a measured look, then added, "Do you ever put yourself first? Or even consider yourself at all?"

Silence.

"When you're back on your feet, we'll have words about this." Jack sighed. "Do you think you can make it into the chair?"

The answer didn't come immediately, Ianto's mouth shaping around the syllables before voicing them. "I don't know."

"Come on, then. I'll help."

Between them, they hauled Ianto onto the chair, slumped against the soft back. The plate of biscuits was a lost cause, but Jack bounded downstairs and back up before the sparks had even cleared from Ianto's vision. "Here. Eat." He shoved a sandwich at the younger man, and Ianto recognised it as the food he'd picked up for lunch.

It's the first thing he'd eaten in about a day, too sore to contemplate cooking for himself at home, and somewhere along the line he'd put down his plate and promptly forgotten about it. The first mouthful was delicious and he was suddenly ravenous, Jack watching his every move like a hawk.

He didn't even pause when Owen returned, wielding a syringe of what he hoped was morphine or at least similarly good stuff, just holding out an arm and looking away. It worked quickly, the pain fading into a numb, distant ache.

"I'll be downstairs if you need me." Owen hurried away, not wanting to hear the bollocking Jack was sure to dish out to the younger man.

When Ianto sat back with a sigh, Jack took the empty plate away before perching on the desk. His voice was calm and steady, though there was an undercurrent of sadness, or perhaps disappointment.

"When was the last time you did something that was just for you? Not for work, not for the team, not for Lisa - for _you_?"

Ianto met his gaze blankly.

"Ah, Ianto." He huffed out a sigh and leant back for a moment, kicking his heels against the desk drawers. "When was the last time someone else did something for you, then?"

"I... A few weeks ago?" He didn't sound sure.

"Gwen covering your shift upstairs doesn't count."

"Oh."

They sat in silence, Jack giving Ianto time to think.

"I can't remember. Maybe when you hired me."

Jack bit his lip to keep from snapping out that that didn't count either, instead reaching one strong hand across the gap between them and resting it on Ianto's shoulder, thumb brushing his collarbone. "When's the last time someone... _touched_ you?"

That drew out something like a sob, and Jack went to pull his hand back before an uncalloused palm pressed it down.

"London," Ianto choked out. "The day before they took Lisa, before we knew what was happening."

Jack turned his hand to twine his fingers round Ianto's, and met his gaze with a serious expression.

"I would like to touch you, Ianto Jones."

That earned him a gasp, though their fingers didn't unravel. "I think you already know that I'm interested." He's not exactly subtle with his flirting, Ianto would have had to be blind not to see it. "What I mean is, I would like to touch you now. Here."

Ianto's eyes drifted closed, and Jack waited with bated breath until finally their eyes met again. "Yes."

Jack's smile was blinding. "Good."

He slid fluidly from the desk, dropping to his knees between Ianto's legs, watched by wide eyes as he ran his hands up the perfect crease in the trousers. "Just tell me to stop if it hurts, OK?"

Ianto nodded, mute, and then groaned as Jack's thumbs slid into the crease of his thighs, pulling the grey trousers taut over his rapidly rising erection.

With a wicked smile, Jack reached for the fastenings, undoing the button and sliding the zipper low until Ianto's boxer clad cock nudged free, an obscene bulge under black cotton. Forearms on Ianto's thighs, he pressed an open mouthed kiss to the soft fabric, feeling it twitch under his lips.

Clever fingers tugged down the waistband of the boxers, easing out the reddening cock, swiping a thumb across the head of it to pull back his foreskin and smear slickness across the sensitive skin, drawing a whine from parted lips.

With Ianto's damaged muscles he couldn't lift his hips to pull down the clothing further, curling an arm around his abused gut to try and soothe the ache. Jack hushed him, but it wasn't until his lips closed around the tip that Ianto relaxed back with a half-sob, hands curling into fists at his sides.

His cock swelled in Jack's mouth, coming to full hardness against a sweet tongue and talented lips, hands pressed against his hips to keep him from moving and straining himself further.

Jack kept the pressure light, tracing the contours of Ianto's cock with a delicate tongue, dipping at the slit to taste the salt there, easing back and pressing light kisses down his length.

When he bent forward and took him deep, Ianto's breath heaved before he groaned and clutched at his side, fingers trembling as he skirted his ribs where the worst of his bruises lay. Jack let his cock slide from his mouth inelegantly, too concerned to make it any filthier than it already was. "Breathe, Ianto, just breathe."

When their eyes met again, Jack's were crinkled in concern, Ianto's glazed in pain and pleasure. "Do you want to stop?"

"No, sir, don't stop."

Jack let out a little whimper at that but curled back over him, wet and eager as Ianto let out little gasps above him, hips twitching minutely, holding himself back through sheer force of will.

"Jack - Jack!" Hands scrabbled in his hair, pulling him back. "I'm-"

With a scowl, Jack swatted at his hands. "One day, Ianto, I'm going to tie your hands down and show you how to really relax. Now let me be a gentleman and swallow."

"Oh, god," Ianto moaned, head tipping back as he let go of Jack's neat hair, curling his hands back into fists at his side.

Jack grinned as much as he could, lips stretched wide as he teased out Ianto's orgasm, drinking him down eagerly as the younger man whined and moaned and bit his lip to hold back anything louder.

When he was through, wrung out and empty, softening in Jack's talented mouth, Ianto closed his eyes, and to his embarrassment felt hot tears dribble down his cheeks.

Strong arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders, pulling him close until he could bury his face in Jack's neck, and after a moment his shoulders heaved in desperate sobs despite the pain of his ribs.

"You were so brave," Jack murmured. "So brave, my Ianto."

They stayed there, the captain kneeling for the tea boy, until silence fell.


End file.
